“Come home with me,” I said. “It’s small, and Owen leaves cereal bowls everywhere, but it’s ours tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“You are my husband.”

For a week, we practiced being normal. Jonah barely slept. Owen asked cautious questions. I bought groceries without counting every dollar twice.

On the eighth evening, Jonah came into the kitchen carrying a black box.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He placed it on the table.

“Now it’s my turn to be honest.”

My hand stopped on the dish towel.

“Unless that box is full of back rent and a working nervous system, I don’t want it.”

He didn’t smile.

“Sadie, when you married me, you agreed to something bigger than my name.”

“I married you because Owen needed shoes and rent was due. Don’t make it sound better.”

“My mother didn’t choose you by accident.”

My stomach tightened. “What did she do?”